#A child realizes that behavior and immediately knows he's in trouble

[ray935sworld]

"Max is the bad guy"

You mean the Max that was telling the interview host that his behavior (clear protest against FIM regulations regarding interview statement) is not towards him and he doesn't wanna upset him?

The one who said no comments but promised the journalists more answers outside?

Him? Yeah... Right.

[merakiui]

[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar. 

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic. 

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs. 

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence. 

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle. 

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.” 

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie. 

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

[dairy-farmer]

Bruce comes back from being dead to Dick estranged from the family and Jason and Tim being Dami’s parents

such a twist on the usual 'bruce is lost in time trope' where jason and tim end up being damian's primary caretaker!!!!

honestly dick is a character that is often forced to shoulder and bear the burden of a lot of things. bruce dying and leaving the mantle of batman could have the potential to have pushed him over the edge and just been too much. so rather than trying to keep the family together, telling his brothers they only had each other for support- he left. it's just the final nail on the coffin for him, the straw that breaks, the request of him that is just too much.

tim and damian wake up one morning to dick's room empty and his stuff gone. all that's left is a note about how he can't do it anymore and that he's sorry but that this was never what he signed up for. this wasn't how he'd wanted his life to go, that he'd never wanted to be the person who would raise two kids when he barely had his life together. dick writes about how he knows that with bruce gone not only would gotham fall on his shoulders but damian and tim, his adopted brothers, would now be his responsibility as well and....he can't do it. he taps out because this isn't what he wants, having the bats and the "mission" be what his life revolves around isn't what he wants. he's sorry but anyone else in his shoes would do the same.

of course damian and tim's relationship is tense and not good but...now a big heaping responsibility has suddenly fallen on tim's shoulders. dick is gone and alfred has already mentally checked out because bruce is gone which makes tim the eldest person and the only person available to take care of damian. if damian gets in trouble, if he kills, if he goes back to the league- that's on him.

and that's what tim is concerned about at first. but then other things start popping up. like damian being hungry. so tim has to figure out what to feed him, how to feed him. damian needs clean clothes for school, damian needs to be registered for school, damian needs supplies for school, the school needs a number they can contact in case damian acts out and tim has no choice but to offer his own and he gets called in practically every week for one problem or another. tim has to try, he has to do a LOT now that he's the person taking care of damian.

so by forced proximity and the fact that tim genuinely has to try, their relationship smooths out. they have some bumps, some resistance from damian who was harboring some deeply hurt feelings over dick essentially abandoning them. but eventually the two of them are able to come together because they're stuck and there's no point in making things more difficult for the other.

when jason goes around killing, as the eldest and now the next prime candidate in gotham to be batman- tim has to stop him. of course jason gets a laugh out of tim and damian teaming up, makes jabs about when "goldie" is going to arrive only to go quiet when he sees the looks on their faces.

of course the three of them don't get along immediately. but jason does his own legwork and realizes dick has essentially fled the coop leaving the two youngest on their own and with tim now shouldering the responsibility of raising a child (because alfred is certainly not in the right place to do it- in fact alfred has taken his vacation time and tim is the ONLY one caring for damian) and being batman. for jason its reluctant help initially. he's not bringing over casseroles and bottles of milk- he's just occasionally checking up on them because he remembers being 17 and there's no way he would've been able to raise a kid like tim is supposed to be doing. and he's right. it's too much. tim is clearly at his wits end getting called to damian's school every other day for behavioral problems and working at WE because he's appointed himself ceo to protect bruce's legacy.

jason wonders what exactly dick had been thinking abandoning them like this it's so...uncharacteristically cruel of him. if anyone would throw themselves on a sword for their brothers jason would've thought it would be dick...

and so... jason steps in a few times much to tim's great relief. he starts spending more and more time with them because tim helps him out with information sometimes and before long jason is doing grocery runs and helping damian with his homework while tim cooks dinner and talks about how jason's best idea was telling tim to request to work from home and only going into WE once every few weeks.

by the time bruce returns they're a well oiled machine and his inquiries about where dick is only brings up some bitterness and resentment from tim and damian. and when dick DOES return after having had his mental breakdown all across europe it's to...a very distant relationship with tim and damian. things are tough and they never quite get back to the way they were, the way they could've been if he'd never left....but if dick had never left then jason would've never come into tim and damian's lives the way he did.

so if tim never sheds the habit of pressing a soft, thankful kiss to jason's cheek every morning, and if damian never quite gets into the habit of darting to bruce for help with his schoolwork or to fill out a permission slip then...no one really musters the ability to say anything about.

[angelkissiies]

nectar of angels

abby anderson x reader

cw : modern!au , church girl!abby , church girl!reader , dom!abby , sub!reader , religious imagery , blasphemy , corruption kink , religious guilt , purity culture (mentioned) , god / power kink , oral ( r ! receiving ) , probably more ?? read at your own discretion !

wc : 3.2K

Her leg bounced restlessly, hymn book almost completely forgotten, as she stared at the cross decorating the altar. It was hot, the heat of the sun burning her skin as it filtered through the panes of colored mosaic, making her shift uncomfortably as she tried to keep her eyes off of you. Something about the sweat tempting her brow made her instinctively tense her fists, the rolling sensation taking her back to the feeling of your core pulsing around her fingers. She was too far gone, the words of her father passing through her, body occupied with an untameable craving. 

“Abigail?” The man beside her whispered, a sharp edge in his voice as he craned his neck to speak to her– eyes still trained on the man pacing behind the altar. 

She froze, hands coming to attention in her lap. “Yes, sir?” She murmured, slowly angling her face away from the floor to take him in. It was one of her father's friends, a man she saw around often. Moore, she thought his last name was– not that it mattered because the scorn set in his face was enough to make her wither away on the spot. 

He tore his eyes from the preacher, steely gaze landing on the blonde. “You are being distracting, Abigail, you should know better.” He berated, the grip he had on his bible tensing, narrowing his eyes as he took her in. “What is wrong with you, girl?” 

Abby straightened up in her seat, shaking her head as she tried to make herself smaller in his lingering gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just feeling rather plagued by the spirit today.” She hummed, clearing her throat slightly as she spoke. “God is speaking to me.” Her thoughts shot back to you. The tender flesh of your breasts in her hands, the cries for God you’d released into her mouth, the angelic halo of ecstasy on your face– it was hungry work to be as devout as she was. The only God she’d ever come to know sitting across the aisle, begging for her worship, it took everything in her to not give in. 

“Is that so?” 

She nodded quickly, taking a shallow breath, crossing her legs to dull the growing ache in her cunt. She knew how devious her thoughts were, she’d spent many restless nights begging for God to take them away, but she’d come to realize that this must have been God’s will. He wouldn’t give her something so beautiful and expect her not to satiate herself on the divinity. “Yes, sir.” Her voice cracked, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. 

The man gave her a curt nod, relaxing back into his seat, eyes glued back to the preacher. It was unlike anyone to really give her much trouble, seeing as she was usually the star of the sermon– with her girlish looks and obedient soul, it was hard not to like her. So most would brush off her odd behaviors lately as the musings of a young girl, even though she had grown well beyond that of a child, now sitting at 20 years of age. To them, she was being crafted into the perfect wife. To her, she was being unshackled from the chains– her mind woven into one amassed of ‘deviant’ love for a woman. 

“That will be all for today.” Her father wrapped up his lecture, setting his bible down on the lectern with a loud thump. “My daughter, Abigail, will be staying to collect canned donations for the food bank– which is next week, in case anyone missed last week's flyers.” He smiled, moving a hand out to wave towards Abby– who looked lost for half a second before giving a small nod. “God bless you all.” 

The church immediately lit up with light chatter, the shuffling of feet sending Abby out of her seat and towards the doors. There was nothing she wanted more than to be out of there, her feet moving on autopilot as she took the stairs two at a time– almost falling when she met the carpet at the bottom. She took a second to catch her breath, hand shaking as it gripped the railing, at this point she had evaded anyone who possibly would have stolen her attention– leaving her to fight the growing heat in her cunt alone. 

“Shit.” She hissed, backing up to rest against the concrete wall of the stairwell. The cold seeped through the knit of her cardigan, erecting a small sigh fall from her lips. She was burning up, still, using the back of her hand to wipe away the beads of sweat collecting at the nape of her neck. You were like a fever, coursing through her body and setting off alarm bells, sweating her out of her faith. 

The sound of the door swinging open made her jump, quickly smoothing down her hair to appear more put together as she feigned busy. Her legs carried her over to the table in the corner, picking up the clipboard to gaze at as the person made their way down the steps. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears as she flipped the pages gingerly, not taking anything in. 

“Abby–,” You began, eyes cast on her turned figure, slowly stepping down off of the last stair. 

She spun around, an incredulous look on her face, letting the board clatter down onto the table. The growing fever cast a desperate haze over her, making her legs tremble slightly, the things she’d do to have her hands on you were too blasphemous to even think. The sight of you was too much, making her look away in shame. “What are you doing here?” She asked, glancing towards the side door– just in case anyone was close enough to hear. 

You let a small smile pull at your lips, hand still sitting on the railing, tilting your head at her avoidance. “I came to see you.” You stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, the golden cross necklace shifting further into the divide of your chest as you swung slightly on the metal pole. “I needed.. to ask you for something.”

The girl felt her heart drop into her stomach, urging her to look up at you. “W-what is it?” She spoke quietly, taking a small step away from the table as she allowed herself to really look at you. The soft pink and white of your floral skirt hid the curves of your hips, long white sleeves concealing your untroubled skin, cardigan protecting the virtues she longed for. You were so pure it hurt. She tried to get you out of her head but every glimpse of your body sent her over the edge, needing lessons in temptation from the devil himself before she’d ever be able to look at you without a burning lust. 

“I was wondering if you’d mind helping me out.” You hummed, releasing the railing as you took a couple steps toward her. From this distance, she could now see the tabbed bible poking out from under your other arm– making her press her thighs together. “The feeling... it’s back again.” You felt oddly nervous, shifting on your feet as your panties clung uncomfortably to your drooling cunt, you knew she could help– seeing as she’d done it before, just a few nights ago. You didn’t understand the feeling that bubbled in your tummy, only knowing that it was caused by the glimpses you’d caught of the girl before you– the image of her silken skin beneath her lacy skirt made a heat rush over you– it was unfamiliar, unlike anything you’d ever felt in the presence of a man. 

Abby’s breath caught in her throat, her hand coming to grip the edge of the table so hard she thought it might break. She felt dizzy, your words sending a pulse of need into her cunt, her eyes fluttering slightly as she tried to find the restraint to not take you right there, right now. “Y-yes, please.” She practically whined, kicking herself for how desperate she sounded. “I mean, yes. I will.” 

You giggled, rushing up to wrap your arms around the blonde, taking a deep breath as you squeezed her. “Thank you so much, you’re the best friend ever.” You said matter-of-factly, not noticing how her entire body tensed up. 

“Thanks,” She sighed, patience growing thin as she felt your breasts press into her, moving one arm to wrap around you gently. It was pure torture, temperature skyrocketing as she looked to the statue of Mary for advice– before rolling her eyes. She was a virgin, how could she help? “Would you do something for me?” 

You pulled back, nodding, doe eyes making her look away. “Of course, what do you need?” 

She knew better, she knew that this would be the thing that sent her to hell out of all things she found herself doing. It was a perfect sentence, just to taste the nectar of an angel, and she welcomed it. “Go check to make sure everyone is gone, lock the doors, and come back.” She instructed, her mind slipping from guilt to desire– no longer willing to beg for stronger resolve. “I can help you now, would you like that, angel?” 

You were immediately shuffling away, nodding vigorously as you took back steps towards the stairs. “Yes, ma’am, I'll be right back.” It was needed, the warmth in your panties soaking through to coat the inside of your thighs, making you practically run up the stairs. As you popped out from downstairs, you glanced around, feeling a familiar heat rise in your cheeks. She had called you angel again, something that hadn’t clicked until now, making you struggle to continue to breathe properly– eyes making a b-line for the cross in the middle of the room. You were just a girl, not an angel, but you couldn’t help feeling giddy at the status she’d given you in her eyes. 

Abby could’ve run after you, forcing you on your hands and knees before God and man alike, hands winding in your little skirt as she carnally hungered for the mere sight of your pretty cunt. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, nothing compared to the softness of your walls and the warm arousal as it dripped down her hand– making her let out a soft groan at just the memory. She knew how fucked up this had to be, seeing as you didn’t understand the significance of allowing her to touch you like this, making a momentary shame wash over her. You were just a poor sheltered girl, one she needed in the most unholy way, unknowingly betraying your covenant to God. “Fuck.” She sighed, her tense grip on the table releasing as she took a small step away, pulling off her sweatshirt and dragging the sleeves of her black long-sleeved shirt up her forearms. 

You had checked every room upstairs, finding nobody hanging around, your mission coming to a halt at the front doors– fingers turning the lock into place before bounding back to the stairs, letting the door slam behind you as you took them two at a time. “I did it, there's nobody.” You affirmed, moving to the couch on the other side of the room, plopping yourself down before grabbing at the frills of your skirt– pulling them up hastily. “Now please, please? I can’t take it anymore.” You whimpered, the cold air of the basement hitting the soaked cotton of your panties. 

Abby fought back the moan that tempted her lips at the sight, your big doe eyes filled with frustration and the massive wet spot darkening the white fabric– making it almost completely see-through, giving her a borderline pornographic sight of your cunt. “God, what have you been thinking about?” She asked, coming to stand before you, eyes locked onto the desperation lacing your soft features. “What has you so worked up, angel?” She brought a knee up to the cushion between your legs, kneeling on it as she leaned down, her hand moving to caress the flush of your cheeks. 

“I can’t stop thinking..” You paused, biting your lip slightly as you angled your hips towards the tense muscle of her thigh. You didn’t want to stain her in the sin of your gaze, knowing it was born from a stolen glance into her privacy, making you close your legs around her knee. 

The girl cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing at your reaction. “About?” She prompted, her hand coming down to toy with the chain of your necklace, turning the golden cross in her fingers. The slight shake of your head made her click her tongue against her teeth, winding her fingers in the chain and yanking it towards her– cutting off your air as she bent down closer to your ear. “You wouldn’t deny me the chance to help you, would you?” Her tone was saccharine, practically dripping into your parted lips as you gave her a tiny nod, tears welling in your eyes. 

The chain loosened around your throat, making you gasp, chest heavy with big breaths as you peered up at her. “Can’t get the sight of you out of my head, Abby.” You confessed, a stray tear falling down your cheek. You were beyond ashamed of your reasons for needing her, seeing as it was caused by her, it seemed like some extremely cruel cycle of torture. “You–you’re so beautiful.” 

Abby felt her stomach twist, your words sinking into her heart as she looked up to God for help, the sentiment rolling into her cunt. She was long gone, there was no absolution for her now, hell called to her– and she was answering. She dropped onto her knees, peering up at you with hooded eyes. “Open, angel.” She instructed, using her now free hands to gently push your legs open– feeling the release of tension in your muscles as she did so. 

You sunk into the couch, her touch sending chills down your spine, a whine slipping from your lips. “I m-mean it.” You whispered, feeling her soft breath puffing against your inner thigh as she took the seeping wetness onto her tongue. It took every piece of restraint you had not to buck your hips towards her face, craving the feeling of her tongue. “Y’so beautiful, It makes me feel funny.” 

The girl groaned at the taste of you, hands navigating to the waistband of your panties– dragging them down effortlessly before tossing them over her shoulder. She was unstoppable at this point, your tiny mewls of need urging her to dip her head down and claim you as hers all over again but she resisted. Her hands moved to grip your hips, pulling you further down on the plush couch, now level with your cunt as it dripped arousal onto the ancient floral of her skirt. She took a deep breath, letting the divinity wash over her, before sinking down to lick a broad stripe over your cunt– taking her time as the rough pad of her tongue came to your clit. 

“A-abby..” You gasped, hands clenching the fabric of your skirt to contain your impulses, head falling back to rest against the cushion. The ache had spread, now sending goosebumps onto your velvety skin, nipples hardening at the sudden stimulation. “Oh, my God.” 

A snicker tempted her lips, but she muffled it as she used a hand to spread your sticky folds, tongue dipping down to trail over your puffy slit. Here you were, cunt out for her taking, still praying to God. Something inside of her longed to be your creator, your God. She wanted you to fall at her feet, kiss the ground she walked on, look at her like she hung the stars in the sky– but she would never admit that. It was blasphemous, as nobody could be God except the man himself, the last guy who tried got a worse sentence than hell. She would settle for being the sole source of your pleasure, I’d keep you running back to her, and that would work for now. She brought a hand up to swipe some slick from your soaked cunt, using her thumb to massage the swollen bud. “Manners.” She tutted as she brought her head up, just barely hovering over your heat. 

You panted slightly, the feeling just as overwhelming as you remembered it, screwing your eyes shut as you nodded. “M’sorry, ma’am.” You whimpered, not brave enough to look back to her as you felt her blowing icy air onto the sensitive bundle of nerves– your cunt clenching around nothing, making her chuckle darkly. 

She dipped her tongue back into the warmth of your folds, lapping up the messy arousal that had continued to seep from your slit– the muscle dipping in to press against your soft walls. It was so euphoric, the way you managed to get so wet for her, it was somewhat of an ego trip– if she was being honest. A moan slipped from her chest, the vibrations making you squeak in pleasure– hips shuddering away from her, as she dug her fingers into the soft skin, holding you in place. Of all the ways to be sinful, she thought this had to be the best one, squeezing her thighs together to control the pulsing your little noises sent through her. 

The sensation made you moan, a burning tension in your stomach as her fingers continued to work on your clit. You couldn’t help but chase the feeling, legs shuddering around her head as her tongue stuffed itself into your aching hole. “Oh, oh.” You breathed, eyes fluttering with the sheer force of the pleasure rolling over your body. You didn’t understand how something so simple could feel so good, the precision of her movements making your legs tense around her head– squeezing as you felt the tension grow harder to handle, hips bucking against her mouth. “Please, ma’am, please.” You begged, hand coming to grip her loose braid. 

Abby removed her tongue, more than satisfied with the reaction she was getting from you, moving her free hand to slip a single digit into your tight cunt. The walls instinctually clenching around it as she began to pump it in and out, curling it when she felt it come knuckle deep inside your heat. “You feel that, angel?” She asked, licking her lips. “Only I can make you feel like that, nobody else.” 

You nodded, tears springing in your eyes as her finger dug into the spongy spot in your cunt, your back arching off of the couch– borderline screams pulling from your mouth as you felt the burning course through your body, hips jerking as she continued to thrust– walking you through the familiar euphoria. “Oh God, Oh God.” You moaned through broken puffs of air, hands shaking from how tightly you were gripping, feeling your cunt release a gush of liquid onto her hand. 

“That’s right, angel, cry out to God.” Her voice was heavy, slowing her motions to a stop as she peered up at you from her place on her knees. “M’right here.” 

[lovezbrownies]

Work affair. (Yandere!Boss x GN!Reader)

Masterlist

Synopsis: Your boss never cared much for you, until he did.

Red Ludenhart x Reader.

Warnings: Stalking, breaking and entering, alcohol, clubbing, drugging (to reader), death (minor character), forced memory loss,

Your boss was a tad bit strange, but you can put up with the strange behavior if it meant getting paid. Even if your boss didn’t allow you to step outside of his office and the VVIP area of the club that’s okay, maybe he doesn’t want you to be influenced by lazy workers! Or he doesn’t want any of the sleazy non-VVIP customers to harass you! It was all for your own safety. You think.

Red was delighted to learn your apartment was close by to his club. He would always offer to walk you back home when your shift is regrettably over, he has your address memorized, as well as the entire layout of your apartment. The second fact was not something you were aware of however, you should definitely get better locks. It was child’s play to break into your humble abode.

The first few nights he broke into your home he was far more cautious than he is now, Red didn’t know when your bedtime was, but when he decided to install cameras all around your apartment, he could finally have some peace knowing when you were and weren’t awake. And of course to spy on any guests you have over, watching you walk around and commit yourselves to your hobbies on the weekends.

You were the definition of perfection in his eyes. Red wasn’t one for love and that mushy stuff, he’d always preferred the more chaotic parts of his life than the mushy lovey dovey stuff he’s seen on TV. That's what he’s been saying to himself up until he met you, the new bartender. Red has no clue who hired you but he sure as hell is eternally grateful for it.

It wasn’t a love at first sight situation, nor did you meet immediately. You met the owner of the club you work at a month after you started working. It was during the monthly staff meeting when you did. Red was confused by your presence and asked who you were, after introducing yourself to him he brushed you off. Red didn’t care if there was a new employee, as long as you don’t cause trouble you’re not someone important to him at all.

Red thought you were attractive, sure, but most of his staff are– nothing new. Red doesn’t like the main entrance of his own club, usually taking the back entrance for special patrons, and into the VVIP area. So that means months passed, and the only times he’d ever see you are during the staff meetings. He’s sure you do at least the bare minimum since you don’t get a lot of complaints like other staff. Maybe the illogical assholes every now and then would accuse you of something but the floor manager usually has it handled.

It wasn’t until you had the closing shift while Red was still there that he realized how wonderful you are. Normally he’d be back home before the closing shift, today was different. It was a long complicated process but Red managed to convince an investor to put in double the money they originally invested; it was now 5:50 AM. Patrons have been kicked out, evident by the lack of noise, and Red’s sure the staff have left by now.

Red needed to drink something, and he needed it to be as heavy as possible. The VVIP areas didn’t have anything strong so he went to the general area of his club. Red expected the usual emptiness of the club, but someone was still there, vacuuming the confetti off the floors. In the middle of the large empty club stood you, headphones on as you nodded along to the music you were listening to.

This was something he hadn’t seen before; and he just stood there– watching as you cleaned up, unaware of the predator watching your every move. Eventually, tired of standing there Red just walked over to one of the bars around the club, took his favorite brandy bottle, poured himself a cup full, and kept watching. This time he was leaning against the bar counter. It was cute how you were none the wiser of his presence.

Eventually you turned off the vacuum. Turning around you expected nothing less than perfectly clear floors, which yes that you did see, but you also found the owner of the club, smirking at you, glass half empty. You stood there, motionlessly staring at Red as he stared right back at you. Not wanting to get into trouble for whatever reason you sped off into the restricted area for the staff and booked it to the janitor’s closet; just as Red was about to say something to quell your anxieties.

Well, not Red’s interest was certainly piqued. Picking up the vacuum you abandoned he made his way over to the staff only area, waiting to hear some shuffling but all he heard was the staff’s exit door opening and closing. You left. Not a trace of your existence to be seen. Looked like you were all ready and packed to leave, it’s fine, he’ll just put the vacuum back and see you the next day.

And see you he did. For weeks, he would approach you at the end of your shift, chat, and then walk you back home. A month and a half into your newfound friendship he promoted you to be the VVIP’s sole bartender, firing the old one for reasons unknown. Red watched your every move since, in his club, in your apartment, with your friends, shopping. Wherever you are. There will always be a camera following your every move.

Your boss was a nice man for getting to know you, walking you home as the sun rises, making sure no one bothered you, and when someone did he’d defend you like his life depended on it. Normally, you’d fall in love with a man if he did all that just for you. But you were already in a committed relationship. 

Your husband, Richard, is a military man, striving to be the next Chief. He moved away from the city you two lived in right before you started working at the bar– Rich was transferred over to a different city, and you didn’t want to move away from your family and friends, so you compromised. Richard tries his best to come by and visit, he still pays for your shared apartment, and always calls you morning and night. He is the man for you.

Red knew about Richard, of course he would. Red knew everything there was to know about you, and was he concerned over it? No. Red has connections everywhere. Including in the military, so when an unfortunate accident occurs, a misfire, or maybe a terrible case of food poisoning. Whatever it may be, your ex-husband is now dead. Leaving room for Red to be the sincere loving friend. Yes, come running to his arms, cry to him, it’s late and you don’t want to be alone? No worries, he’ll stay the night!

Red’s been doing an amazing job distracting you from the death of your ex-husband. Hugging you when you need, cooking mouth watering dishes just for you, and buying you many things to help distract you from the grief. Like gaming consoles, knitting yarn, books, art equipment, anything! If he ever sees you show interest in something he will immediately purchase it or at least try to get a hold of it. Whenever you show concern or guilt over the amounts he’s spent on you he softly pets you and tells you that his club is very successful.

Over time, Red truly weaseled his way into your life. He spent most of his nights in your bed; although platonically, as you so claim. Red likes to act like a good househusband when he does sleep over, wake up early, cook breakfast, and shamelessly flirt with you. You two walk together to work, he doesn’t dare think of work up until your shift starts.

Red doesn’t like to harm you, but he has been slipping a few pills into your food; a few anti-anxiety meds, with sleeping aids and here comes the perfect concoction for lapses of memory, causing you to forget quite a bit but not too much to be dangerous. He does this for a while, until you mostly forget about the fact that you had been unfaithful to Red by marrying some rando. Once that happens Red pulls back from the drugging. It was easy to do so, with a spare key to your apartment and him cooking you most of your meals.

You stare up at the ceiling with a soft smile on your face, you ponder how you hadn’t managed to fall in love with your husband sooner. He’s always been there for you, he’s protected you from creeps, and he’s spoiled you even before you got together. You were so lucky that you had him. You looked back down, gazing at the handsome man laying his head on your lap. You caress his hair, your perfect man, Red.

Red loves his little butterfly.

[suzyblue0292]

Rewatch - Dead Boy Detectives S1E2 - The Case of the Dandelion Shrine

Is this a functioning cannery?

Edwin being their diplomat is both horrifying and hilarious, but yeah, he is actually the best choice. 

I always knew if my cat could talk he’d be an asshole.

I can’t tell how much of the seduction is real and how much is a play to get the bracelet on…

The fear on Edwin’s face as he backs off. 

I’m not sure it’s consensual if you smack a caging spell on someone first…

I wonder if the cat king returned him hours later on purpose to screw with them - it makes Edwin’s story so suspect to Charles because - how could that be all that happened - you were gone for hours!

Edwin is so stressed out and striking out at everyone. Also this makes 2 times he has mentioned hell. 

Poor Jenny does not get paid enough for this shit. 

Obviously they have not traveled much if they don’t know the mail gets forwarded.

And the sad moment we all realized it was not psychic lesbian love. 

“You’re a cursed walrus. That’s cool.” Oh Charles.

Charles does smile a LOT.

Esther was totally planning revenge before she knew they were stuck. Oh, deary me. I love her so much. 

Where do doctors still make house calls? Is it because he really is such a crap doctor?

I don’t think Edwin doesn’t care - he’s trusting Charles to handle Crystal - while he observes and puts together evidence. 

Honestly, Edwin a simple “We can’t talk to the living, you can.” Would have sufficed. Yes, Charles, stop being so nice. Western doctors refuse to treat women with any seriousness even when it’s not a magical malady so let’s not give Dr. Dehydration any props here. 

Married bickering. 

Crystal, while I don’t begrudge you poking through someone else’s library, those letters are not your business. 

Edwin’s repetitive use of “hysteria” cracks me up.

More married bickering. Right until it looks like Edwin could hurt himself, then Charles is so soothing.

Also, which one of them is more obsessed with the Cat King?

Poor Charles. Also, when you consider that Edwin’s calmness is because he’s seen so much worse, poor Edwin.

Crystal, all you do is talk about it.

Boarding school is a theme in this show. 

Everyone was staring because of the sprites, so she had to drop out of school. 

Where do all of Crystal’s clothes come from?

Niko looks so delighted at the prospect of Crystal being insane. She really is delightful.

So much of Edwin’s rudeness comes from a place of concern.

Are those women twins?

A dead child causes more trouble than a live one. Tell me how you really feel about children, Nurse Lady.

Such a cute map Niko.

I think Edwin liked, or at least respected his father. He is quoting him a hundred years after his death. I wonder if he didn’t have a better homelife than Charles and that is why he looks so stricken when Charles says “lets not talk about dads.” He doesn’t really understand that Charles was abused - in part because Charles hasn’t shared that and in part because our idea of abuse has changed over time. However - it should be noted that when Edwin himself was a small child there were reform movements, and anti-child abuse laws passed in England, so it isn’t fair to assume he was abused or would have no understanding of the notion. 

I love the relationship we’re seeing between these two. Charles’ gentle comments about Edwin’s “old-timey insults” immediately elicits a promise to be nicer from Edwin. 

Then his comments about liking Crystal because she’s like Edwin get this soft smile from Edwin and he breaks down and admits he isn’t upset with Crystal but himself. Charles is so quick to put the blame on the Cat King - even though he could scold Edwin for trapping the cat.

How does a ghost break a bone on the mortal plane? 

“I went with grab it.” Charles I love you.

“ANOTHER discussion about your impetuous behavior.” “Sure, mate.” Charles does shit like this all the time, clearly. 

The teacher in me feels such kinship with Jenny.  I wish I could say “cut the weird shit.” God knows I think it a lot. 

Me too Edwin. Me too.

I think we all sleep on how brilliant Charles really is. While Edwin and Crystal are bickering he’s reading the book and coming up with a solution.

Why does the jar float in thin air but not the book?

Edwin does care about Crystal. 

Okay Crystal’s speech to the sprite’s is so sad, but does anyone else expect a lion and hyenas to start a musical number when she says “you’ll never go hungry again”?

So rude that the sprites could just always “exit the body” this way but instead explode people. 

Love the sprites.

“But also dangerous and unprofessional. Do not do it again.” Is Edwin for “I care about you and you frightened me. Which Charles damn well knows. I suppose it would embarrass Edwin (and probably Crystal) for him to point that out though.

Charles please stop. We’re all in pain here.

Love Niko’s confidence.

Charles is so happy to collect new friends. 

Oh my god. So many ghosts.

Esther, my queen. 

The spellwork sequence is so cool. 

I know Monty comes off all sweet later but his grin is evil. 

[blues824]

Child!GN!Lilia Vanrouge!Reader in the Remarried Empress

I decided to do GN!Child!Lilia Vanrouge!Reader. Requested by @spritofthesea​

Preface: I know nothing about Lilia as a child, but I assume that he was most likely raised to serve the monarchy of Briar Valley. Thus, that behavior (as well as a bit of childishness) reflects itself when you get isekai’d to this world.

Sovieshu

Upon finding out that his wife had found a lost child near the palace, he was very concerned. After all, you would most likely steal the Empress’s attention from him. We all know how jealous he gets after he realizes that Navier gives him a taste of his own medicine.

But, you wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t start playing pranks every now and then. So, you would often mix up Sovieshu’s papers so that he can’t find the one he needs. You’ve also spilled an inkwell or two and blamed it on the mistress.

Eventually, the Emperor had enough and sent you to be trained by the army. He didn’t feel bad when he saw his wife crying and begging him not to, and he even said that it would do her some good as well. Jokes on him though because in just a few months you were running the army as a child because of your advanced military experience. 

This made him even angrier, but he couldn’t do much about it. He couldn’t banish you anywhere without proper justification. He once sent you on a merchant ship so that you might learn some discipline, but that didn’t work. Sure, you got more cultural experience, but you weren’t easily broken.

Rashta

She first thought you were adorable, until the whole inkwell incident. Rashta could be petty if she wanted to, so you could say that you met your match. While she would go to Sovieshu for comfort, you would go to Navier. That caused an even bigger rift between the two.

However, you weren’t one to cause harm through your pranks. You were aware that there was a child within the young mistress (thanks to your hearing abilities, you were able to hear the baby’s heartbeat), so your pranks would only cause slight annoyances rather than fear. A few times, you did bring up her first child.

When the Emperor sent you off to join the army, Rashta hated to admit that she was glad you were gone. That means that she had more time to deal with her old owner before you went telling on her. But when you came back, you were still the troublemaker you always were, just with the title of General.

A child had more power than her, and she was genuinely terrified. Because you had worked your way up to the top, and because you had magic, she felt as though the life of herself and her baby were in danger. But, the Emperor sent you on the merchant ship for a cultural experience.

Navier

She found you in her hiding spot, and she immediately took you in. She made sure that you had a proper bath and a change of clothes as well as a room that you could stay in. Through all this, she found herself getting attached rather quickly. Within a few weeks, she considered you her own.

Whenever you pull a prank, she has trouble trying not to laugh. But she will have a talk with you and treat you as a good parent would. She would take away some privileges and ‘ground’ you by making sure you attend behavioral classes.

But, her husband had enough and sent you to the army. She cried and begged him not to, but he was putting his foot down. Navier wept each night, feeling as though she was missing her child. Then, she got a letter from one of the generals saying that you were now a general as well because of your military expertise. 

Then, her husband had sent you on the merchant ship, and she was actually in support of this idea. It will help you in the future. She herself made connections in Luipt because she knew some of the language, so she was setting you up for success.

Heinrey

He saw you at the New Year’s Ball, and he saw how you stuck close to Navier. He doesn’t blame you, and by the looks of it she really cared about you. So, as he got closer to her, he made sure that you knew he accepted you.

It got to a point where he became a kind of step-father figure whenever you saw him in his bird form. You could understand what his squawks meant, and he often enjoyed your silly personality. As well as sending letters to your adoptive mother, he sent letters to you.

When he found out that Sovieshu had sent you into the army, he was there to comfort Navier. But what he didn’t tell her is that he felt her loss as well. He also felt like his child was gone. If he wasn’t angry before, he was definitely angry now. He was proud when the Empress told him that you were quickly rising through the ranks, though.

Then the merchant trip, but Heinrey wasn’t as angry. In fact, he was there in time to receive you in the Western Kingdom. There, he made sure you and the rest of the crew were comfortable during your stay. He listened to any stories you had to tell him, and he did so by paying all of his attention to you. Great step-father material.

[tenderhungering]

Have you noticed how women are used in the film? Their suffering, grief, ambitions and even deaths. It all benefits the men.

yes, i have! i think it was during the first time i watched with two of my friends that we mentioned how fucked up it seemed to bring in lilly. she was an abused child in circumstances that june describes as inhumane and now she's supposed to come on and chat about said abuse.

to better delve into this though, i'm going to do a little ramble on each female character (i've been meaning to this regardless so this question has me excited!)

Lilly

as i mentioned before, lilly, to the public, is an abused child who has been rescued from a cult and is now the subject of dr. june's book. i believe that june really did care for lilly but she in a way, was still benefiting from her by writing about her. something to study while parenting. reminds me a bit about parents who write about raising troubled children.

jack brings them onto the show almost because he knows how shocking this is to audiences, to have survived what lilly did. i think that fear and shame but also desire kiss on the mouth. the public both fears the occult but want to learn more, there is some sort of fascination with the idea of someone being in it and being able to get out of it (would people do the same?). lilly is a spectacle. she is to go from not knowing the outside world to standing in front of the camera and expecting to behave like a typical girl her age. it's almost like she has to prove herself well-adjusted after her trauma.

june explains to her that everyone having a demon inside of them, acknowledging that lilly's might be a little more literal but because the demon serves as a stark reminder of her time in the cult, it's similar to someone working around their triggers. everyone has hurt in them. like a therapist helping you work with carrying that hurt rather than just suppressing it. clearly the demon leaves lilly exhausted, upset and feel not like herself. she's crying after her scene and asking june as to why she's hurt her, and apologizing for whatever happened when Mr. Wriggles was there. she is not in control of her actions. but jack wants more. he's momentarily sympathetic but realizes that it's getting him higher ratings. the more hurt is displayed, the happier than the media is.

even in the final scene, when the demon possesses her, we can see it in her face that she's distraught. confused. but all the camera does is zoom in on her expression,

June

june is so intriguing to me as a character because it's almost as though her instinct toward things is a calm and collected behavior, one that thinks of the ethics of it, whether anyone will get hurt, but her decisions are so easily swayed by jack. and he knows exactly what to tell her too. Everyone finally take you seriously. It is the 70s so there's no surprise that misogyny is rampant (though the 70s did introduce the second wave of feminism, she may be a representation of challenging attitudes as well). june is a very passionate woman in her studies, she'd be considered an expert in the field but this is almost immediately dismissed as soon as she's introduced as a doctor. you call yourself that. is that what you believe you are? can you prove you are?

i think it makes june feel better if everyone has a distance from lilly - hence writing a book about her. you can know lilly through the pages. you don't need to make her suffer for views then, you can educate yourself on what was happened to her and understand she's hurt more than necessary. she might've felt the need to write the book for them both. lilly need to be understood and emphasized with as more than just a "child of d'abo". but jack invites her with the idea of simply talking about said book, one of her biggest accomplishments and instead wants to treat them like some sort of circus act. do a trick for me, june! you know how to! it's not enough that you tell me you know, you have to show me, you have to prove yourself to me, the camera makes it real.

it is that logic that sometimes makes her feel inclined to prove herself. and sometimes this is at the cost of her own morals.

Minnie

my beautiful wife,,,

i love minnie. so much. i've written a bit about how i think she was prior to her death in other asks but i never quite touch so much on how much she was exploited by both jack and the industry.

to be ill is a personal affair. and it was on all the tabloids whenever minnie was diagnosed with cancer (even if she did not smoke! i mention this because while smoking might contribute to lung cancer, it did feel like an odd mention that they'd pay so much attention to whether or not she did? it might've been to emphasize how sudden this all was but i'd also like to throw in that perhaps she was also just taking care of her voice! she was in theatre.) she has no privacy to mourn the gradual loss of her life. some people believe the cult was implied to be the one who had made this illness manifest for her which is awful in its own regard and more so when one considers the fact they did it to get to jack. almost as though minnie is an extension of himself and not his own person.

jack inviting her to the show could very well be done just because he wanted to invite his wife (though it does feel a bit odd he waited till she was sick to do this. maybe it was some sort of public gesture of affection, they both live to entertain, it's their job) but there's something saddening about the ordeal. it's almost as though knowing minnie was sick was not enough, the public had to see her in order to have some sort of confirmation. and the immediate comment about inviting her over being followed how even then, this wasn't enough to surpass johnny carson is morbid to say the least. almost as though minnie had just been used as a way to gain better ratings. sympathy ratings. i don't want to remove any agency of minnie, it might have been her decision to go on the show but the public's reaction to is that is what is more concerning.

even her death was simply a sacrifice. she was nothing more than a missing puzzle piece to have jack move forward (or downwards?). something that would benefit jack. as all the women in the film have been. each with such distinct personalties and motives to what keeps them going (or who are still amidst figuring out what they'd want out of life) being only part of a larger scheme where men are the benefactors. the grove only allowed men. the cult birthed sacrifices from their women. women are a stepping stone. a chess piece. something that needs to bleed for someone who demands it.

i love writing about how compelling these characters are! so sorry if sometimes my ramblings feel leaning more towards just dissection rather than downright analysis! i hope it gave some insight though!

[thevoidscreams]

Hello! May I pretty please request serf being bred by their white scar up against his bike?

You may. This is fantastic.

Pairing: Subdori (oc) x reader

Warnings: sex in public, breeding, rough sex,

Yall better hold the fuck on he's in it to win it and by it I mean getting you knocked up

(Also, sorry, it's pretty short. I'm not feeling the best today).

Subdori growled, his teeth clenched as he found you. He'd been looking for you for over an hour.

Turns out you'd been cleaning his bike, trying to get some downtime. The Astartes had been unusually insistent recently. You couldn't be sure why, but it'd left you sore afterward. Still, your body was used to it now, and even after a week of being bred nightly, you craved that ache and the sensation of being stuffed with his seed. You could imagine it sowing inside you and growing into a child for you to love and adore.

Your hands ran over the seat of the bike your lover rode into battle. It was nice to have some quiet time to yourself.

Subdori felt his cock twitch under his pants, seeing your ass from that angle gave him, many ideas. And he was going to partake in most of them. His approach was quiet. He's didn't want to scare you off, even if you were his and didn't need to be scared off. Subdori knew he'd been riding you a bit hard as of late.

But the teasing words of his brothers and the bets they'd been making had gotten to him.

'I bet I could get five women pregnant in the time it took you to get just your one.'

As if. He'd chosen you because he saw the quality of you. And he was glad to see that physical quality reflected in who you were as a person. He'd have you pregnant with in the week he was certain. You would make a fine mother for his children.

The first clue to you should have been the other serfs clearing out fast. Leaving their work unfinished. But you were too intent on your own work to register the odd behavior.

It wasn't until the hands clasped your hips that it dawned on you just how relevant it was.

"Subdori, my love, how are you?"

"I'm fine, but I've been looking for you for over an hour now." His hands held your hips, pulling you back to meet his hardening cock.

"I see, and am I in trouble for this?"

Subdori lowered his face down to your shoulder, mouth open, and let his teeth rest against the thin fabric of your shirt. It made you shiver with need, having been conditioned to the feeling of his live bites when you came. Now, the feeling made a surge of desire shoot through you.

"I would like to mount you now." Subdori growled.

"I bet you would big boy, but we're in the hanger. Not exactly the most romantic or private place to do this."

Subdori grabbed your waist and raised your body up to stand on the floorboard of his bike. "I don't see anyone who would object."

You rolled your eyes.

"I'm pretty sure the other serfs-" You made a gesture only to realize he was right. Every other person in the immediate vicinity had cleared out. "...well damn..okay."

Subdori chuckled, hooking his thumbs into the band of your pants, dragging them down.

"I see you have been thinking about this as well."

You shivered as the cool air of the room kissed your arousal soaked lips. "You put your mouth on my shoulder, of course I got hot." You grumbled.

His hand gently pressed you down, your chest resting on the wide seat as he freed his cock from the restraining confines of his pants.

"This is a good angle for you. We should do this more often." Your white scar huffed as he pushed his cock into the wet warmth of your cunt. You'd grown so used to having him in you every day that it was more of a comfortly snug fit rather than the burning stretch it had been when you first started sleeping with him.

Still, it drew a deep moan from you, the sound rising up from deep in your chest.

Subdori was pleased to no end by it. Knowing that his love, his little sparrow also enjoyed these times together made it all the more pleasurable.

He took a deep breath and massaged your hips, focusing on not cumming. He'd never tell you, but it was always a battle not to cum right away. You were simply too good a fit, and his body yearned to mark you inside and out.

When he had himself under control, he began, starting slow, angling his thrusts to drag over every place you loved. He was rewarded with the soft, whiny moans that he loved. It was music to his ears to hear you all but sing for him as he claimed you.

His own little slice of heaven within.

"Does my little sparrow enjoy this?" He teased, his manhood twitching as he drew another deep moaning breath from his love.

"Yes, fuck yes, please Subdori. Give me more." He bent forward over you, thrusting deeper.

"Satisfied?" His arms came to rest of the seat in front of your face as his body draped over your back and pressed you further into the leather covered padding.

There were a lot of ways you could have replied, but a deep hummed was all that would come out.

Feeling that he'd given you enough time to get well and truly settled his pace picked up, rutting you into the bike.

Beyween each wet slap of your arousal soaked thighs, he felt your heart hammering as your breathing quickened. You weren't far off and neither was he in all honesty.

"I want something from you sparrow."

"Yes. Anything." You panted as he nearly toppled his own bike over with how rough he was being. The world spins infront of your unfocused, lust hazed eyes.

"Scream for me." He latched his teeth onto your shoulder, biting down hard enough to mark, his canines drawing prickles of blood. His fingers holding you hips with bruising strength. Which for an Astartes was still restrained.

Subdori growled in satisfaction as your voice rang out. Calling his name loud enough that regardless of how far away they'd moved, the other serfs heard you in your moment of ecstasy.

It drove him over the edge, his hips not stilling for a moment as he rode out his orgasm. Working you both through the bone deep pleasure.

Subdori only let go when you began to whine in not pleasure but actual discomfort.

He pulled out, tugging your pants back up to cover you. Doing the same for himself. Then, scooping you up so less of his seed would be likely to leak out. Kissing the bite mark tenderly to relieve the ache.

"I should take you to the apothecary, I bit too hard." The jump from rough beast to caring lover was always a treat to behold.

"Good idea. I need to go back to get the test results anyways."

"Test results?" He questioned.

"Yeah, I've been feeling a bit off for a bit now and wanted to see what was up." You looked up at him.

"Why have you not told me this?" He sounded more concerned than upset.

"Cause it's always after you go off to train in the morning, and it's better after you get back to take me to breakfast."

He hummed. "Only in the mornings?" That is strange.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about Dori." You kissed his cheek.

"I hope not. But we will know soon enough."

You nodded and rested your head on his shoulder, smiling up at the man you loved.

[newspecies]

HI this is my thousand word ramble about Rocky and his relationship with other characters and my thoughts in general. I'm normal about Lackadaisy I promise.

Calvin

Calvin and Rocky are cousins that grew up together, with Rocky being 5 years older. The mini comics all make it seem like he spent most of his time there and later he says “it was home more than home was.” (Lackadaisy Breakdown). The cousins wrote to each other while Rocky was traveling around and Calvin kept them all inside a box instead of throwing them away. Aunt Nina tells Rocky "[Calvin]'s the only one in all o’ creation who'd follow you" (Lackadaisy Somersault) so they're clearly extremely close. Calvin lies to his mother several times to keep Rocky out of trouble, even when it's about something illegal. Despite his moral compass and the fact that he almost went into law enforcement, he's working with Lackadaisy and regularly shooting at people presumably just because Rocky wants him to (and because Ivy's there... but in the beginning it was for Rocky). They strike me as having more of a sibling relationship than a cousin one due to growing up so close.

Aunt Nina

Nina does not have a very high opinion of Rocky and she makes this very clear. She trusts him not to get Calvin into too much trouble but she doesn't let him stick around when he stops by. He’s under no illusions that he’s welcome at her house (Lackadaisy Somersault) and he tells Ivy that “[his face]’s only abided in small doses” at Nina’s house. He starts telling Ivy there was a small family tragedy and "it had an author... and with already ink-stained hands, i signed my name on it" which means that something bad happened and he either was to blame or took the blame and that is the reason he left Missouri, "so time could dull my fresh reminder face." (Lackadaisy Breakdown). My guess is that this family tragedy had something to do with his mother because his father was alive at least a little bit after he left because he was sending letters and stopped (Lackadaisy Correspondence) his mother is only mentioned once, in Lackadaisy Breakdown, described as “chasing Red Death” Red Death is not a real sickness and its instead from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. This could mean that his mother had some sort of bloody sickness. My guess is tuberculosis. It was one of the biggest causes of death in the early 1900’s and one of its most well known symptoms is coughing up blood. Sorry this is supposed to be about Nina and I kind of went off the rails there. Anyway I don’t think Nina hates Rocky at all; she still does his laundry and lets him visit and lets him drag Calvin around. But she doesn’t trust him and makes sure he knows that.

Mitzi

Some people seem to think Rocky has a crush on Mitzi, and him threatening Wick certainly gives the impression but I heavily disagree and I think he sees her more as a mother figure. He clearly looks up to her and seeks her approval constantly; he goes out while extremely injured and hiding that injury from her (Lackadaisy Deliria) presumably because he realizes that the pig farmers' attack on Lackadaisy was his fault and he really wants to fix it. His behavior towards Wick strikes me more as a child really not wanting a step parent. As the audience, I know that Wick is basically incapable of evil (he has killed once and it was a duck and it still haunts him) and Mitzi is the one taking advantage of their relationship, but from Rocky's perspective Mitzi is just an innocent widow looking for companionship and Wick is a weird rich sleazeball. I honestly don't think Rocky is aware of Mitzi's own sleaziness, and if he is he’s ignoring it to the best of his ability. but Mitzi likes having Rocky around. Every time she's upset over something and Rocky starts joking around she immediately starts smiling more (Lackadaisy Proposition, Lackadaisy Haggersnash). She’s undeniably fond of him, despite his many shenanigans.

Mordecai

Okay this one is a little bit more out there. “But Rotten!” You may argue, “Rocky doesn’t actually know Mordecai! They only interact like once outside the mini comics!” Yes dear reader but consider this: they have so many parallels. They are opposites on the surface; Rocky is silly, Mordecai is serious. But looking closer they have a few things in common. Mainly: TRAINS!!!!!!!!! They both have recurring train motifs and it makes me insane. For Mordecai he met Atlas on a train (Lackadaisy Thaumaturgy), and for Rocky he has a drawing of one on one of the letters he sent to Calvin (Lackadaisy Correspondence) and he said his father worked on the railroad (Lackadaisy Breakdown). In relation to the trains, they both left home at a young age and wrote letters home. They also both seem to have a habit of gaining enemies; when Atlas met Mordecai he was running from people (Lackadaisy Bookkeeper) and Rocky’s… everything makes making enemies extremely easy for him. These two have PARALLELS and I need everyone to know!!!!!

Rocky

This last section is about Rocky himself! First off, to state the obvious: Rocky is extremely impulsive, he doesn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions whatsoever and it gets him into all sorts of trouble all the time. He’s not oblivious though; in Lackadaisy Posterity he immediately jumps to the conclusion that he ruined something, he just didn’t remember it. Rocky puts on a show of being confident and sure of himself but the moment his walls are torn down in the Posterity and Breakdown pages he’s calling himself a horrible person. He is extremely aware of how other people feel about him; even though his exclamation of “they tolerate me” in Lackadaisy Palaver is framed as a joke, it feels pretty real. A lot of people don’t like Rocky and he knows this. I don’t remember where I was going with this. Just know that I’m obsessed with Rocky and I’m thinking about him always.

In conclusion

[princess-of-the-corner]

hey im having some trouble with something fic-wise and i wanted to ask if you had ideas. if todo hadn't had his chimera-perfect quirk, do you think enji would have been trying for another kid? also, do you think toyua's breakdown would have been delayed or just Different?

Hm!

I think it kinda depends on the exact nature of how you're writing it? Because like.

I think there's a few factors in it.

/Why/ specifically is it the Fire/Ice child he wants? Because remember: Enji was perfectly fine training Toya despite having only Fire and no Ice until they found out that Toya wasn't fireproof and therefore using his Quirk would be putting him in danger.

So even in Canon, while the Fire/Ice child was an ideal scenario, he settled for 'less'. So what, exactly, changed? Why couldn't he just turn his focus to Fuyumi or Natsuo(those two are free to do whatever they want)? Why make another child and hope for the combo like originally intended instead of just writing off Toya specifically?

Another factor in this is Rei. How much of a choice does she have? Obviously I write Enji as a decent person so if Rei had said 'no, we're not having any more children' then he'd listen. Some people clearly write differently and think he didn't give her a choice already.

Like I clearly write Enji one way and while Canon narratively backs a lot of this up, I do take my own liberties and I can see why people interpret things completely in the opposite direction even if I think they should refrain from stating it as fact and being shocked when people don't agree.

Anyway! There's a lot of ways to interpret these characters depending on the story you want to tell.

For example how I write them in CC:

Enji wanting a Fire/Ice child is him projecting his own trauma and guilt. Though he was fine with Toya initially, he now feels guilty to 'cursing' him with a Quirk that causes him pain and having to crush his dreams. Therefore a Fire/Ice child would be projection for both of them to succeed where they both fail.

He doesn't go to Fuyumi or Natsuo 1.) because he wants the Fire/Ice to make up for everything. If he doesn't succeed in what he started, Toya suffered for nothing and 2.) as insane as he is, he's not going to fully force them. Fuyumi and Natsuo don't want to be Heroes. If they did he'd train them, just like he later trains Shoto. But they don't so he doesn't. (Shoto may have had less choice/would have been more pressured to be a Hero, though Enji tells himself he would've listened if Shoto wanted something else. But he wanted to be a Hero anyway. In a way, Enji is just doing exactly what he wants. (I don't mean this in a victim-blaming way I mean this in a 'Enji is justifying things' way))

As for Rei. I haven't gotten to this in Road to Hell, but after everything with being pregnant with Shoto? She doesn't want to be pregnant again. It scares her. It scares her even years later no way in hell would she want to do it again immediately. Now, given her own traumas re: her parents and her inability to say 'no', she might not express this and she may crumble if Enji tries to talk her into it not realizing how scared she is. But she doesn't want to.

As for Toya's breakdown:

Again this can be up to the writer on how they interpret his actions/behavior/choices.

But I think that regardless of if Shoto came out 'perfect' or not, the base setup for Toya's breakdown was already coming. Without intervention on that particular front, I don't think things could've stopped. And that's a separate thing from how Shoto turned out.

I think at best what might happen is Toya having some camaraderie with Shoto in a 'Shoto got rejected too and Enji moved on to the next kid' kind of way. I don't know if it'd totally change course, but Toya would have someone to feel the way he feels in some way that Fuyumi and Natsuo don't understand./Maybe/ this could change things in that Toya has someone who 'gets' him and also someone to look after more, but I think he'd still have problems.

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 14 - "What were you thinking?"

| Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

A little story with Nathan and Lawrence before the whole kidnapping! Tempted to make this the canon way he was kidnapped.

CW: Parental whumper, several mentions of drugs/drug addiction, infantilizing behavior, general violence, financially indebted, implied kidnapping

...

It broke Lawrence's heart watching Nathan waste his life away without even realizing it. The crowd he hung out with didn't give a shit about him; they saw the young man who would do anything to prove himself. They exploited that fact and used it against him. At just twenty years old, Nathan was getting arrested every other month for petty theft and vandalism.

And each time, Lawrence would come to the rescue to bail him out. No questions asked, no judgement passed.

He was disappointed and frustrated, sure, but in the end of the day, it gave him an excuse to show Nathan that without him, he'd be a total disaster.

Without his guidance, who knows where he'd be? Who knows if he'd still be alive or not?

But each night when Lawrence couldn't sleep, he'd think of Nathan and if he was in danger or not, since Nathan seemed like he wanted to get killed at this point.

The only reason Lawrence hadn't kidnapped him yet (although he'd use a lighter word) was because he wanted to gain Nathan's trust, just a little more. That, and he needed more time to prepare his house for his arrival.

To ease his anxiety, he put a tracker on both Nathan's phone and car keys. If there were any spikes or dips, Lawrence would know immediately and see what happened.

It's the only way he could sleep peacefully at night, knowing where Nathan was at all times.

If only Nathan could understand...if only he knew how much Lawrence loved him...then maybe things wouldn't be this bad.

Then again, Nathan had never really known love. Some nights Nathan would show up on his doorstep, drunk or high, crying about his awful childhood. Lawrence would take care of him every time. He'd hold him until the morning, calming him down as he babbled nonsense about how unloved he was as a child. That was the only time Nathan would be vulnerable with him, which made him form a love-hate relationship with Nathan's addiction.

On one hand, he loved being able to see that side of Nathan that no one else saw. On the other hand, he hated that Nathan chose drugs rather than coming to him. It should've been obvious that he didn't need to suffer alone when he had him.

Nathan never took advantage of that fact either, which baffled Lawrence to no end.

His house was open at all hours to Nathan if he needed anything; food, money, a place to stay for the night.

Anytime Lawrence offered anything, Nathan refused it, and that fueled Lawrence's hatred of Nathan's family even more. What kind of person would raise a child to act so prideful? A child who obviously needed help and was too stubborn to ask for it.

At least that gave him more reasons to keep an eye on Nathan. After all, someone had to save him from himself.

It was almost two in the morning when Lawrence got a text. Lawrence grumbled in annoyance, just about to go to bed after several hours of answering emails, when he noticed who it was from.

Nathan: hey I nned help

Lawrence checked the tracker, expecting him to be at a bar or the police station. Yet his heart dropped when it revealed he was in the middle of nowhere, just on the outskirts of town.

Panic swept through him. He didn't hesitate to get dressed and rush outside, nearly forgetting to lock the door behind him. He jumped into his car and took off down the street.

He dialed Nathan's number multiple times, but each time it went to voicemail. This didn't stop him from trying over and over again, begging him to answer. His foot pressed harder against the gas pedal. The further out of the city he drove, the more abandoned the landscape became.

Everything was likely fine, he tried reassuring himself. Nathan got into trouble all the time, so there wasn't a reason to believe it would be worse tonight.

Then why was Nathan telling him he needed help? He didn't make that kind of statement lightly. And why did he text, not call? He always called him!

Lawrence shook his head. Too many questions were forming, and the longer it took to find him, the more they built up.

At the intersection of three dirt roads, Nathan's car was parked haphazardly in the grass. There wasn't a sign of life in sight, making the dread in his stomach worsen.

The wind howled through the tall fields on either side of the road, providing the only sound Lawrence could hear.

He scanned the area with the flashlight of his phone, cursing himself for not thinking to bring one with him. But that wouldn't matter as long as he found Nathan. Nothing else mattered except for his safety. He rushed forward, calling Nathan's name with every step.

"Nathan, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

The temperature was dropping with each passing second, prompting him to bundle himself tighter. Where could Nathan have gone? Had something happened to him? He fumbled for the tracker app on his phone again. To his dismay, there was no signal to give him Nathan's location, just his car. He cursed and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

So much for technology being reliable.

In the distance, he spotted a trail of broken blades of grass, as if someone had been dragged through them. If there was a chance it led to Nathan, he had to take it.

He grabbed his gun from the car and hurried forward, his feet sinking into the mud beneath the dead grass. It was getting harder to walk now that he had to pull his shoe out each time he took a step.

But if this brought him closer to finding Nathan, he didn't care.

Right when the path was getting harder to follow, he heard a scream. It was unmistakable that it belonged to Nathan, confirming that he really was in danger. Lawrence snapped his head in that direction and ran toward it, disregarding how hard it was to move at this point.

This was his fault. He should've found a way to get Nathan to live with him sooner, then none of this would be happening right now.

Once he neared the source of the noise, he saw it led to an abandoned construction site, which was boarded up for decades. It was common knowledge to avoid this place because of how dangerous it was to go anywhere near it.

He knew Nathan was reckless and impulsive, but not stupid. There had to be another reason for him going there.

Perhaps someone lured him there.

Tears pricked at his eyes. If someone hurt his kid, they'd die. Nathan was all he had in this world, and the thought of losing him forever was enough to break him.

"I'll pay you back, just please!" Nathan wailed. "Just give me one more week, I swear I'll make it up to you!"

Lawrence rounded the corner, freezing in horror once he saw the scene in front of him. Three men surrounded Nathan as he cried, bruised and bloody. They towered over him, leering down at him like predators to their prey. One man held a gun while the other two held bats, one of said bats covered in blood. They looked like they enjoyed tormenting the younger man, taking turns kicking him around like a ball.

His vision blurred red. Nathan whipped his head in Lawrence's direction, which alerted the three other men to do the same.

They stepped away from Nathan and backed into the shadows of the building. Lawrence leveled the gun at the closest man.

"Who the fuck are you?" the man holding the gun demanded.

He didn't have time to explain who he was or why he was here. All he had time for was revenge. He lifted his gun to pull, but the man grabbed Nathan's body and held it in front of him like a human shield.

Nathan's wide, terrified eyes locked with Lawrence's. Lawrence bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, clenching the trigger tightly. He couldn't pull it without risking shooting Nathan instead.

"Who's this, your dad or somethin'? Coming to save his drug addict son?"

The other two laughed. Lawrence narrowed his eyes. If he could kill anyone in this world, these three would be first on his list. Nathan let out a pained gasp, trembling from the hands gripping him. Lawrence wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but that'd have to wait.

"Let him go."

They pretended to be shocked.

"Aw, sorry pops, he still owes us money, see? So we're not gonna let him leave until he pays up. Or do you want to cover the debt instead? We wouldn't mind collecting from you instead..."

Lawrence fought every urge to pull the trigger. Instead, he reached into his jacket. Their smirks widened as they watched him, amused by his compliance. Lawrence took a deep breath and pulled out a checkbook and pen and clicked it impatiently. He was thankful he always carried it on him. "How much?" he snarled.

Their greedy gazes were on the checkbook immediately.

"Nine grand," the leader answered.

Lawrence didn't hesitate to write the amount down and rip it out of the book. He waved it in the air, baiting the men to approach him. The one without the gun stepped forward, his arm outstretched. Lawrence slid the check into his palm.

His gaze never left Nathan and the man basically holding him hostage. "I did what you wanted. Give him to me."

The man inspected the check, his lips twitching into a smirk. The other two joined his side, taking the check from him to read it themselves.

"Can't believe that shit worked! Well, pop, you really saved the day," the one with the gun commented. "We just have to make sure it's actually real and then you can be on your merry way. You should probably keep better watch of what your kid gets up to. Then we won't have this problem again."

His fingers twitched against the gun. "Oh, I will." Nathan felt like shrinking when the blond's gaze flickered to him.

It didn't take long for one of the men to verify the validity of the check, grinning widely when it cleared. They had everything they needed and pushed Nathan away in the process, who stumbled as he tried to regain his footing. Lawrence pocketed the gun again and ran to him, pulling him into his arms. The younger man latched onto him.

He brushed the hair from his face, revealing the black eye, bloody nose, and busted lip he was sporting.

It made him furious knowing this was the type of people Nathan chose to be around. How many times had this happened? How many times was he too late to stop it?

Lawrence let the younger man put all his weight onto him, guiding him back to his car. Nathan limped alongside him, wiping his tears every so often.

"Y-You didn't have to do that, Lawrence...you didn't have to pay them..."

He set him down in the passenger seat. His heart clenched when Nathan whimpered at the slightest touch of being lowered onto the leather seat. Lawrence shushed him and put a hand to his cheek.

"Sweetie, I'd give anything to make sure you're safe. But honestly, what were you thinking? What did you do to owe those guys so much?" Even just the mention of them made his blood boil again. He'd find them later and kill them. No one, absolutely no one, laid a hand on Nathan like that, ever.

He sat in the driver's seat and turned on the engine to warm him up. Nathan refused to meet his gaze, staring down at his lap in shame. "I didn't mean to borrow that much...I didn't think it'd be this big of a deal...they were really nice about it at first and..." His words drifted off. Lawrence sighed and combed his blood and sweat-drenched hair back. Nathan glanced at him, a pout forming on his bruised lips.

"It's alright, you don't have to say any more. Why don't you get some sleep, okay? I'll take care of everything. We can go home, and I'll make sure those mean men never hurt you again."

"Sounds nice..." Nathan cracked a tired smile. He didn't think twice about the implications of those words. "You're always there for me when no one else is. Thanks."

"Oh, kiddo. You'll never have to be alone again."

[aloeverified]

i’m curious do u have any headcanons abt wayne and raj… they are the characters ever

yes 💪

their fullnames are raj kapoor & wayne graham (the most candian name ever for the most candian character ever).

wayne was always way taller than raj growing up, but now they're roughly around the same height. it's just not obvious to most people since wayne wears boots and raj sticks with his trusty converse. raj is just pushing 5'10 and wayne's a little over 5'11.

raj has two younger siblings who are twin brother and sister and are much younger than he is. wayne is an only child, but their families are so intertwined that they basically consider him their older brother too.

they're juniors in high school (assuming that's how it works in canada, too lazy to google it rn) and are about seventeen. they don't look or act super young, but they still got the "when i'm older" type of vibe that most people who are right about to graduate don't really have.

they've been best friends for a while, but not quite childhood best friends. i think they met during gym class of sixth grade and just instantly hit it off due to their shared interests in sports and humor.

raj's parents are first generation immigrants so they're not completely fluent in english and have a bit of an accent when they talk. since his moms raised him to be the most highly of gentlemen, wayne asked raj to teach him a bit of telugu so he could make polite conversation with them whenever he came over without all the pressure being on them. that was his first step to almost being immediately adopted by them.

this actually caused them to both realize they really enjoy studying languages. they continued studying telugu together, with raj tutoring wayne. wayne also decided to take up french classes early, and raj had his parents sign him up to learn the basics of other southern indian languages they knew. they both view this as a helpful skill for when they're international hockey stars, of course.

they live in a decently smaller-sized town, so despite not being neighbors, they still find a way to be at each other's house every other day. they switch off depending on what they're feeling, and their parents learned to accept that they're a package deal that comes and goes whenever they please.

since his parents discovered he was gay through the show rather than raj actually coming out to him, they — along with wayne's moms — thought it would be funny to turn his coming home party from the show into a coming out party as well. raj realized this when he cut into the cake and it was rainbow inside.

his family was very adamant about showing raj how supportive they are. he wasn't sure why, as their best friends were a lesbian couple and his best friend was the son of said couple, but they still repeatedly told him how proud of him they were and how much they loved him. the only pushback he received was his nani complaining about how he wasn't allowed to date until he was thirty and that this bowie boy was ruining that.

teacher hate these two. they never shut up in class, will ditch their assigned partners to work with each other, never get their work done, and yet still manage to have good grades (because they know they won't be able to play otherwise). no one understands how they do it.

they always have the most over-the-top cartoony outfits for spirit weeks. even the asb and student council kids find it embarrassing how much school spirit they have.

besides their accidental menace behavior, they never actually get into any real trouble at school. the only time they've ever gotten suspended was when wayne wanted to test his new padding gear and rammed himself into the lockers at full force and nearly killed himself while raj recorded.

because of their ridiculous stunts they like to post, wayne has a bit of a following on social media. he doesn't really do it to be an influencer or for attention or anything, he just likes being able to look back on all the fun moments he and rajie have together. that's one of the reasons they were so eager to be on total drama, to showcase their awesome friendship and have the tapes of all their fun challenges together.

they work part-time at the local ice rink, where they were able to land jobs due to their skills on the ice. they even work the same shift most of the time since they have the same availability hours, although they switch off between standing behind the counter and supervising on the ice. sometimes they both get to help out with the little league hockey teams, though, which they both really enjoy.

[beginningobserver]

Can I write ONE MORE THING about Rui and that drama CD track? (I mean, this is not only my blog but also a blog dedicated to Rui-posting so...)

Rui is the kind of person who does not want to cause TROUBLE for others.

The reason he felt guilty and bad is probably because he was still under the mentality of not wanting to hurt anyone else. This may come from his own issues with his mother, who assumed that a FOUR-YEAR-OLD can act and behave like a mature child and process her vague instructions quite well, and then snapped at him for not doing it the way she wanted him to.

Since Rui may have been holding in a lot of frustration and faking smiles to avoid getting more bruises for refusing or disobeying her mother's orders, he had the vibe of someone who didn't want to cause trouble for anyone else -- no matter if it was his family or even random people he didn't know at all.

When Ukkomon explains to him that the digimon will fight to protect their human partners until the death, Rui's reaction is immediately full of regrets -- He didn't want that at all. He didn't want the digimon to fight and die for their partners, he didn't want Ukkomon to simply force them to be get this "terrible" fate.

This makes clear when he mistakes Miyako asking Hawkmon to stop him as Miyako ordering Hawkmon and Hawkmon blindly obeying such order with no hesitation. Rui just associated that digimon partnerships were bad because of how awful his connection to Ukkomon had been for years.

But hey, Ukkomon also wasn't that great at communicating either... Ukkomon himself admits his mistakes in the first convo he had with Rui after 9 years since their fight. And he was portrayed as just a normal and silly digimon -- he shows a more cheerful and friendly behavior/personality than what Rui depicted him to the 02 kids hours ago.

Still, Rui's reaction to Ukkomon's tricks was basically the same reaction his mother would have if he didn't do exactly what she asked him to do the way she wanted him to. And then he claimed that Ukkomon didn't understand him and didn't know what he wanted. The same claim is used against Rui later in the movie -- when Daisuke reverts the question as: "Do you know what Ukkomon wants? What Ukkomon likes?" and thanks to this trick (which may have come from Hikari's own comment about how pitiful Ukkomon was in doing all those pathetic things to help), Rui realizes the problem and decides to do what the 02 kids suggested to him, which was to go talk to Ukkomon and solve their 9-year fight.

So... why would he still feel guilty after those events?

Because he was still taking responsibility for the bad things happening in his birthday. Like, the giant Ukkomon DigiEgg and the "Eggcalypse" which later we learn it was just Ukkomon trying to call for Rui's attention and maybe he wasn't planning to force a mass partnership spree through the ENTIRE WORLD.

(Yeah, those two are really bad at communicating)

Anyway, I want to wrap Rui in a blanket and give him his favorite beverage, because I want this little boy to know that he's loved and that he can be himself, that he can like and dislike whatever he wants. And I want him and Ukkomon to have fun and enjoy life together in the healthiest way possible.

[dearestones]

By Any Necessary Means (Platonic! Yandere! L and Child! Reader)

Warnings: Yandere character, yandere behavior.

@maggiequinn59 Request: Hi Devin , I love your work and this is my first time requesting I was wondering if it was ok with you if you could please write a one-shot yandere platonic L Lawliet with his adopted child confronting him on why he ruined their lives by falsely convicting their birth parents and saying they want nothing to do with him sorry btw if that is to much or uncomfortable I hope you know that I appreciate reading your creations and thank you for the time and dedication you put for us followers 😊💖

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It happened when you were a child.

You were still considered a child in many countries, but the incident you were heavily researching into happened when you were so young, your earliest memories were blurry and held little substance. However, what stood out to you was not cold, hard facts about what happened, but what you felt. You could remember the feeling of your mother’s touch embracing you while you slept in your arms, of your father’s strong grip steering you away from trouble.

There was laughter. 

There were tears.

But most of all, there was love.

And then you lost it.

Well, you didn’t lose love. You’ve had love all this time, but it wasn’t the love that most people would imagine, but a sort of affection that you could only describe as well meaning, but restrained. Boundless, but strict. True, but false.

Ever since your parents had been put behind bars, you had been handed into the custody of the strangest man you had ever met. You could barely remember the tears and the confusion when you finally realized that your parents were never coming back to tuck you into bed, to say their “I love you’s”, or to smile at you in a way that was comforting. What you did remember, however, was the fact that no sooner did your tears finally dry and your sobs subside that you were placed in a clean hotel room with nothing more than the basic amenities and a television screen with a flashing letter L.

And that was when you met him.

At first, you weren’t quite sure about the strange voice who spoke to you from the screen, but eventually you came to trust the man. Over time, you’ve come to associate his voice with comfort and luxury. That voice would command the old man that would attend to you with attentiveness. He would provide the most delicious foods, fashionable clothing, and an education that would make countless children green with envy. The voice was your salvation in those early years, especially in the wake of your parents’ imprisonment. 

However, looking back on your childhood, you came to the startling conclusion that even if you were treated with great adoration (or as much adoration as you could get from a synthesized voice), you had no choice but to comply. You were still a child seeking love and validation. While you did get that in the form of material items, you still yearned for your parents.

And that was the kicker wasn’t it? 

Every time you tried to broach the topic of your parents or make allusions to your past, either the old man or the computerized voice would shut the conversation down or ignore your pleas altogether.

Eventually, you gave up.

Eventually, you came to embrace this new lifestyle that offered the comforts any child should have, but without the love that you craved. 

And eventually, you were finally given the freedom to use the internet and go out on your own.

The first thing that you did? Visit the library and get as much information as possible about your parents’ convictions. 

Almost immediately, you began to see the discrepancies, the conflicting witness statements, and the mixed public opinion about the publicized trial. You were a bright child—your benefactor had seen to that—but it didn’t take a genius to realize that your parents were framed and the person behind it all was none other than the famed detective who had taken you under his wing. Your parents were good people, there was no way people would think that they were criminals!

At your core, you were confused and frightened. How could anyone let this happen? It was obvious that the criminal investigation had been botched, but you supposed that with the right mind and enough money, you could get away with anything.

Perhaps you were gifted with exemplary skills of deduction and observation, but could people be so stupid as to be duped by such a ploy?

And if so, to what end?

Why did your strange benefactor steal you from your family? What benefit were you to him?

“You were always a smart one. Not as smart as other children, but I suppose that can’t be helped.” 

You sat in front of your computer, the synthesized voice seemingly as bland and monotonous as always. However, over the years, you could somewhat detect whenever the voice began to develop an emotional tone to it. For instance, the way the computerized voice seemed lighter and buoyant at the end of his sentence was layered in mild amusement. 

“It’s true then?” You edged closer now, insistence making you seem younger than what you already were. Your fists clenched. If you wanted to get all the answers you wanted, you had to keep your anger in check lest you punch the screen in frustration. “You punished my parents for no reason than… What? You wanted to rub it in their faces that you’re raising their child?”

This time, you were rewarded with brittle laughter. Sometimes, you like to imagine what your benefactor actually sounded like in real life. When you were a child, you often thought that he would sound a lot like the old man who tended to you whenever your benefactor wasn’t speaking to you. Now, though, with all the research about your parents filling your mind, you could only imagine some mastermind criminal leering at you.

“I can hardly rub it in their faces if I have not had contact with them in years. The only benefit that I can see was that I got to raise you.”

You scoffed, the anger mounting. 

“As if raising a child consists of an old man who won’t tell you anything, a screen with a robotic voice, and changing hotel rooms.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“I won’t be. Not for much longer.” You gestured to the bed behind you. There, resting on the rumpled covers was a suitcase and a backpack that was filled to the brim with all of your essentials and a few of your favorite baubles. You had to bribe the old man to leave you alone the past few hours, but that was more than enough time for you to prepare and confirm with what few friends and contacts you had to be on standby. “I’m leaving and I don’t want you to contact me or interfere anymore than what you’ve already done so far.”

“Oh? And what shall I do when you eventually come back?”

That amusement again. 

You hated it.

“You may have raised me—as loose as your definition may be—but you don’t know me. Goodbye.” 

Before he could even think about reprimanding or threatening you, you threw the computer onto the ground and stormed towards the bed. As the straps of your backpack dug deep into your shoulders and the handle of your suitcase was gripped tightly in hand, you glanced around the room before heading towards the door.

Your strange benefactor’s love was as meaningless as the sparsely decorated hotel room you left behind. 

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[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[sketch-guardian]

I unironically need to see the classmates reactions to a child mc who’s in middle school and says stuff like skibidi toilet and rizz

I feel like Zuri would be mortified

Oh dear, I mean, well you're not wrong, some of them would be😂but let's go into more detail in the headcanons (platonic, of course-)✨also since you wrote classmates, I assumed you meant all of them, so I hope that's okay🙈:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A CHILD MC WHO USES GEN Z AND GEN ALPHA SLANGS"

DEMYA

Demya would likely hear such terms thrown around at parties or on the street, mostly from demons trying to pose or young people in general, however she would start paying more attention to their precise meanings because of child MC. When Demya would propose some idea for wacky activities to do together or accomplish an outstanding feat, she wouldn't immediately understand why child MC would say phrases like "let her cook" or "she ate", especially since Demya would interpret them literally, like: yes, she ate a few minutes ago, she didn't cook though, after all she likes rare meat, but what does that have to do with what she has told just now? Child MC would have to explain the meaning behind those slangs and Demya would prove willing enough to learn them to be supportive, using them during some of their conversations

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra would find child MC's way of talking quite incomprehensible and childish, in fact even if he knows some terms because of Azul, he has never tried to find their meanings. Still, if child MC ever called him "cringe", Domnra would know the meaning and pretending not to be totally offended, he would have a little reproachful speech with child MC. During his workouts, child MC would say he's "flexing" and Domnra, perplexed, would reluctantly agree, because he would be literally lifting weights. Domnra would allow child MC to speak in such manner, but would sigh every time, for example when child MC would say "UwU" to Mobim, who wouldn't understand, in fact the little curse would think that it's simply a language it has never heard before

AZUL

Azul is often in step with the times, so he would know the modern slang used by child MC, he would even be able to hold a conversation with them about such topics. When called by child MC "extra" or "delulu" during his dramatic moments, Azul being petty, would respond playfully either with old slangs that child MC wouldn't understand or he would give child MC a taste of their own medicine, returning child MC's slangs from their generation in turn, in a fight to see who proves to be the best/worst

ZURI

Zuri would be quite mortified and disconcerted by child MC's poor vocabulary, not understanding where they could have learned such inelegant terms from. There would be an attempt on Zuri's part to teach child MC a bit of etiquette, so as to sound less rude and more cultured. Reasonably, Zuri knows that changing child MC is wrong, therefore in the presence of other friends of their age, such terms would be granted. Zuri would also be confused when child MC would address her with terms like "yes queen slay" or "you got drip", but at least they semmed to be compliments

ODON

Odon speaks in a fairly old-fashioned way and although very knowledgable on various topics, modern slangs would still prove not to be completely discovered by the eldritch being, who even without using such language, would be curious to learn. Odon could teach centuries-old slangs or nursery rhymes to child MC if they wanted to learn. When child MC would call Odon a "boomer", they wouldn't realize at first that Odon's actually much older, as they're ancient, and if child MC used terms like "spill the tea", Odon would ask why they should spill tea and risk wasting a good beverage. Anyway Odon would be supportive about child MC's behavior, whatever floats their boat after all

REMIEL

Remiel already has trouble understanding human customs and emotions in general, so child MC using such a language wouldn't help her much in understanding, however it would broaden her research, given that she wouldn't be able to learn something new just through tomes and scrolls. Remiel has a very formal and polite way of speaking, it's unlikely that she would change her way of speaking, however she would make an effort to understand child MC, curious about their teachings. Such process would require patience on child MC's part, since Remiel is quite literal-minded, so if child MC said stuff like "stan" or "vibe check" when the angel of death looked cool despite her somber demenaor, Remiel would appear puzzled, but softly pleased once understood the meaning

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel would understand that the terms that child MC used belong to a vocabulary of their generation, however this wouldn't mean that he would know their meaning. Nathaniel would be supportive and patient enough to sit down with child MC and have a long session to learn the new slangs, which coming from him, especially with his stoic resting face, would probably sound funny. When Nathaniel would be enigmatic with his silence, child MC would call him "sus" or say that his aesthetic has a lot of "rizz", comments that Nathaniel would simply give thumbs up for

URIEL

Uriel would probably be the most frustrated, because she wouldn't understand the meaning of such modern Earth slangs, to the point of putting her hands in her hair when child MC exasperates her with their bizarre way of speaking, for a moment she would even mistake it for a dialect. Uriel wouldn't know where a "skibidi toilet" would be in a bathroom or why child MC would shout "yeet" every time they throw something, Uriel would honestly get a headache and although she would accept child MC's way of speaking, she would refuse to take part in it, she has a reputation after all